


Sanctuary

by Veeebles



Category: Taboo (TV 2017)
Genre: Church Sex, Churches & Cathedrals, Developing Relationship, F/M, Half sister, Half-Sibling Incest, Post-Canon, Religion, half brother, post - show, secret meetings, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-05 00:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14605398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veeebles/pseuds/Veeebles
Summary: “Run from me,” he dared her, his words a low rumble of gravel that resonating from deep in his chest, “fly, banish me so I am forbidden to touch you; hate me so my heart will break; claw at my skin until there is nothing left and I no longer itch with this need for you.”There were tears in his eyes, she was shocked to see. They fell down his cheeks and she realised her own were wet.“If you truly do not want my love, you must burn it.”





	Sanctuary

His eyes drifted over the ancient, grey stone that made up the four walls of the place. He leaned back against one, feeling its cold seep into his skin and bones. The air always smelled of damp and the beeswax candles that dripped to the floor, a poor attempt at bringing warmth to the cold light that forever seeped through the dirty arched windows. He stared back at the crosses carved, painted, hung, displayed everywhere so one’s gaze could scarce look down without seeing one, never to forget they were in God’s house.

The church was small, made up of a few rows of pews, the altar that boasted naught but some tiles and a red threadbare cloth. The place was almost always empty unless for Sunday service. The priest that ran it was a known drunk; spent his nights drinking away the donations received that Sunday, then each day sleeping off the hangover.

As children they had ran there, hiding in among the pews, playing with the candles, laughing as they were chased away any time the priest managed to rise from his bed while it was still daylight. Brace had tried to tame their wild nature. He had dragged them to service every Sunday morning, defiantly ignoring James’ protests and jabs at his shabby ‘Sunday Best.’ He would wake them early, stuffing them into the best clothes they owned, berating James when he tried to steal bread from the kitchens, demanding he fast for an hour before mass, as was supposedly god’s will. James would roll his eyes but at a look from his sister would allow Brace to tie the neck chief around his collar and lead them both out the door to the house. He would follow the old servant down the gravel path, the heavy grey of the clouds that seemed suspended permanently over London bearing down upon them as they followed the sound of the old bell tolling in the steeple.

The wooden pews were uncomfortable to sit in, the priest often droning on his sermon for well over an hour, glaring down at them from the ugly lectern made of wood and stone. It stood tall and proud, a perch for the vulture that crouched there day after day, spitting promises of redemption and salvation to its congregation until even the old dears that twittered so much about the teachings of God were dozing off in their seats. James had sat in quiet defiance, refusing to stand when the congregation stood, nor kneel when they shuffled to the floor, the sound of them like a great wave upon the harbour walls. Brace would tut at his rebellion but thankfully James would be saved from his wrath by Zilpha, who seemed more than happy to comply to Brace’s wishes.

James only came to please Zilpha. He had never understood her love for this place, but he liked to watch her at prayer. She looked pretty like that; her hands clasped before her, head bent, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling slowly as if she slept. She was peaceful here.

Her religion was her sanctuary.

As they grew, their father worsened and could not spear Brace to attend church, yet still Zilpha went, and James with her. He would sit in the shadows, leaning against the far wall and watch her at prayer. Her fellow worshipers had long since grown used to him, leaving him be to sit in his brooding silence, shadowed enough and far away from the rest of them that no one cared to notice his eyes never leaving his sister.

In that cold, grey place, she was the only warmth. She seemed to glow, her honeyed skin bathed in the light pooling in from the stained glass windows, casting her blue, green, red, yellow. She was the only truly ethereal being in the place. He would meditate on her form, appreciating the dip and swell of her curves, smiling to himself as he indulged his mind in memories of her lips upon his, her hands against his skin. There was some sadistic pleasure to be had in watching her play the part of an angel, yet he knew her to be a sinner at heart. Sometimes she would raise her dark eyes to meet his, only for a moment, but the soft highlight of pink on her cheeks would make him swell in excitement because he knew she was thinking the same.

It had become habit to meet her there.

When she turned sixteen, she was a woman grown, presented at balls, courted here and there. Brace began commenting that soon their father would be finding her a husband and James would grit his teeth, hands turning to fists whenever the subject was raised. Her days which once contained only him were now filled with lessons with her governess, learning to sew, sing, draw, run a household – all the things a young woman must know to accomplish herself and catch a good husband.   
  


So she told him to use father’s pocket watch and meet her at the appointed time in her safe place.

She summoned him and he went to her like her commoners went to their god at the toll of the bell.

He sit in his usual place, against the wall, in the shadow, glaring up at the painting of Jesus upon his cross. He toyed with the pocket watch in his hand, listening to the slow tick of it.

He hears the heavy, wooden door creak open and shut then the soft click of her shoes upon the stone floor, echoing like she were stomping in the open space. He turns his head just enough to see her walk towards him, passing the stone carved pillars until she is before him, her hand trailing across the smooth polished wood of his pew. He watches her genuflect, bless herself then turn and hitch her skirts up to her waist. His blood quickens as his eyes find her slender legs, her stockings and smallclothes revealed to him. She straddles his thighs and takes his head in her hands, kissing him soundly, her body rocking gently against his.

He sighs into her mouth, hands finding her waist and holding her to him, groaning as she moves against him, growing hard fast after being without her all day. His hands move to her hair, pulling out the pins until her raven tresses cascade down her back, framing her face, making her skin look darker, more wild, more like _his_. She smiles down at him, thumb tracing the line of his bottom lip and she rolls her hips against him again, mouth falling open as she gasps softly. He pulls her firmer against him, leaning up to kiss at her neck, biting when she tilts her head back, allowing him more room. She tastes sweet of her perfume, and salty like the harbour.

Her nails scrape against his scalp and he shivers, shrugging out of his heavy coat and divesting her of her own, kissing the skin of her shoulders and chest now revealed to him above the neckline of her dress. He closes his eyes and listened to her soft noises as he suck a mark into the swell of one breast, hearing her sighs echoing against the church’s walls.

“Would your god not condemn us,” he teases her, voice coming out as a rasp against her skin, “meeting here in his place, defiling each other under his own roof?”

Her voice is as breathless as his, nails scraping teasingly against the nape of his neck.

“ _Our_ God made us just the way we should be. If I love you it is because he made me so.”

He smiles at her words, “and _do_ you love me, sister?”

She takes his face in her hands, kissing him softly, smiling down at him when his hands move to her waist once more, holding her close as he has done a million times before.

“’Man’s original body having been cut in two, each half yearned for the half that had been severed. Love is simply the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole.’”

He scoffs, leaning forward to bite gently at her neck again, her arms tightening about him, “you quote the wrong Gods.”

“The sentiment remains,” he can hear the smile in her voice.

He teases her for her lessons, he knows it is out of jealousy, of fear that she will belong to another someday and no longer be his. She knows it too. It is this that has him draw her face to him, cradling her gently in his hands, smiling gently at her soft skin against his calloused hands. Her dark eyes are warm, hr lips swollen from his kisses pulled up at the corners, her lovely face regarding him with such a look it tugs at his heart.

“You are the half to my whole, and I to yours. We will always belong to each other.”

Her smile widens and she kisses him firmly, sighing against his mouth.

She pulls away and rises, climbing off him, straightening her skirts, securing her hair back in place, looking once more like the respectable woman she was pretending to be.

She smiles at him over her shoulder and leaves, back to her lessons, leaving him in his shadows, breathing hard and head swimming, the taste of her still on his lips.

 

A foolish part of him thought things would never change.

His father enrolled him in the militant school, leaving home to spend his days surrounded by men, by protocol and the constant reminder of their noble company’s cause.

He would come home to her when he could, push her against the wall and burry himself in her heat, her arms coming around him and his name on her lips over and over again until he found his completion in the dark of the night.

Then one day he came home and she did not greet him with her arms around his neck, her lips against his cheek. She skirted around him, hardly meeting his gaze, avoiding his touch until he had pulled her to him outside her room at night, crowding her against the wall until she had told him she was to be married and that things were to change.  

The rage had blinded him and rendered him immobile so much so that when he finally came to his senses she had already slipped out of his grasp and disappeared into her room.

From then on he had been blinded. She continued to avoid him, leaving the room if he ever entered the same one, spending more and more time out of the house at functions and tea parties and whatever else women in high society engaged in. Finally at one of the many balls he had to attend as his father’s proxy he had indulged himself in enough wine to feel the buzz of it in his blood. He had watched her dance all night, glaring across the room, fully aware that everyone around them took note of his hungry eyes upon her.

She had watched him march towards her, reading him like the book he was in her palm and she had hurriedly taken his arm, steering him out of the room and to their carriage before he made a commotion or declaration to embarrass or compromise her in front of their company.

She had not looked at him the entire ride home, storming up to her room upon entering the house. He stopped her at her door, pressing his body against hers, gritting his teeth against the soft noise of surprise she made that reminded him so much of the noises he used to inspire in her for an entirely different purpose. He pressed into her, feeling himself harden against the soft swell of her hips through her dress, having been denied of her for so long.

“Enough of this, Ziplha,” he begged her, voice a harsh growl against her neck, “enough.”

He thought she would push him off, slap him, or shut her door in his face. Instead, she leaned into his touch, just for one moment, one moment of indulgence.

“The church. Tomorrow at midnight.”

Then she was gone, he was left curling a fist into the wood of her bedroom door as he heard the bolt slide in place, but hope bloomed in his chest at her summon.

The day had passed torturously slow, Zilpha being nowhere to be found.

He entered the church, the ticking of his pocket watch echoing in the dark, the church lit by nothing but the moonlight filtering through the windows. He saw her kneeling there in the dark, head bowed, her back to him.

He walked towards her slowly, the scuff of his boots like thunder against the walls. He stopped behind her looking down at her unbound hair that tumbled down her back, wanting nothing more than to reach out and run his fingers through.

She blessed herself and stood, turning to him and his heart clenched as she stood there in her night dress and heavy shawl. The moon bathed her skin in the silvery light, shadows playing across her delicate features, she looked more angelic than any image of the mother in that place.

 “This cannot go on.”

He did not answer. He stared down into those yes he knew so well and found them guarded, regarding him cooly, though her bottom lips trembled slightly, betraying her.

“I can no sooner leave you than rip out my own heart.”

She scoffed at his words and tuned her back. He knew it was to hide her face. She did not feel the words she was saying, this was hurting her as much as him.

He stepped behind her not touching her but close enough to speak low into her ear.

“I cannot stop this now.”

He watched her shiver and longed to touch her, hold her trembling body against his own.

“We must, it is wrong.”

Her voice shook, he grabbed her arms and spun her to face him once more.

There, there it was in her face. If she had looked at him with all her contempt he would have left her be, respected her wishes. Instead, those eyes were glittering in tears, her face full of hopeful expectation. A moment and it was gone, replaced by her practiced, cold demeanour. But he had seen it.

He kissed her firmly, kissing the breath from her. She struggled against his hold but her attempts were feeble, even her fists that hit at his shoulders were half hearted and pitifully light. When she gave in, sighing against his lips and wrapping her arms around his neck he growled in triumph. He walked her backwards, pressing her against the cold wall of the church, warming her against its chill with his body.

She could not fight him, she did not even want to. She let him kiss her, let her heart warm, her head swoon, her fingers tingle with the need to touch him. When he released her he breathed hard against her mouth, fingers gripping almost painfully into her hips.

“Run from me,” he dared her, his words a low rumble of gravel that resonating from deep in his chest, “fly, banish me so I am forbidden to touch you; hate me so my heart will break; claw at my skin until there is nothing left and I no longer itch with this need for you.”

There were tears in his eyes, she was shocked to see. They fell down his cheeks and she realised her own were wet.

“If you truly do not want my love, you must burn it.”

She looked up at him, her beautiful face full of sorrow, her cheeks wet with her tears. He held her as if she might disappear any moment. She sobbed against his lips but kissed him still, even when his hands gripped her so she knew she would bruise she kissed him.

She pulled him into the pews, setting him down against the wall and lifting her shirt, straddling him like she had done a million times before. His lips were hungry on her neck, biting and sucking and leaving marks that she would trace her fingers over when he was gone from her. Her soft moans echoed against the dark stone of the church. He pushed her shawl to the floor, tugging down the neck of her nightgown until her breasts were bare. He kissed away the chill from her skin, sucking at her nipples as they hardened in the cold air.

She ground down against him, nails scraping at his scalp, feeling the short hairs against her skin. She divested him of his waistcoat and necktie, pulling at his shirt, eager to have his skin against hers. He pulled away only to tug the thing over his head then his mouth was on her again, revelling in her lovely noises as his skin moved over her own.  

He hitched her skirt up, fingers slipping between her thighs and she threw her head back, moaning wantonly as he pressed into her, feeling her wetness coat his fingers.

“Enough…I need you now – James – please-”

He kissed her hard, tasting her mouth and shifting her to take himself out his trousers. She clung to his shoulders, legs trembling as she lowered herself onto him, sighing when he was fully sheathed inside her. He grounded into her neck, shuddering as her heat engulfed him, spine tingling with the pleasure she gave him.

He moved inside her, pushing her back against the pew behind her, her nakedness bathed in the moonlight, looking more ethereal than ever. She was his demon, his witch, his siren that called him to worship her and he crawled to her on his belly. She was the most beautiful thing he had known, he knew in his heart he would never love another as he loved her, she was his soul. He moved more urgent in her, drinking in hr moans as they climbed louder and louder. She surged up, mouth open, breasts bouncing, her heat twitching and tightening around him.

“In-inside, James – come inside, please – I need to feel you-”

“Zilpha-”

He had never spent himself inside her, he looked up at her with wide eyes, feeling his completion coming fast, almost at the edge with the prospect she proposed.

”Please, James-”

She kissed him, clung to him and moaned into his mouth, tongue tasting hi, her nails scraping against his skin. She rocked her hips with him and he groaned loud into her neck, spending himself inside her tight heat.

“I love you.”

He groaned it against her skin, feeling her sob as she too reached her peak.

“I love you, God forgive me, I love you, I love you.”

He stilled and held her, her legs twitching around him, her chest heaving, sighing as they both tried to catch their breaths. The church was quiet aside from their soft breaths. Her lips hissed his cheeks, his face, his eyes, his mouth.

The called it God’s house, but in his mind it was Zilpha’s. For she was the one he worshiped. She was his sanctuary.


End file.
